Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(23)
He had a beer with Lytton out on their deck. Passing black-bottomed clouds sent almost psychedelic shadows racing across the surface of Mormon Lake. Blocky boulders strewn under great swaths of Ponderosa pine covered much of the hill beneath Lytton’s house, and once again, Sax longed for some stability in his life. This was what Lytton was allowed to look at every day. Sax was embarrassed that Lytton could already tell that he couldn’t control Beatrix. If he was a good Sir, they would have arrived together.
“I’ve known Bee for about a year,” confided Lytton. He was the spitting image of his half-brother Ford—the hawk’s nose, the gorgeous velvety skin, the flashing, passionate eyes. That Lytton’s mother had been Apache lent Lytton the added dimension of mystery. Lytton was Dr. Driving Hawk. He held a PhD in chemistry from MIT, giving Sax an automatic kinship with him. Sax, too, was also technically a doctor, his doctorate from the University of Michigan, so the two men had a bond. They were also both former club-goers at The Racquet Club in Flagstaff. Sax thought Lytton had been known as Master Hawk in the olden days. “I knew she was in the lifestyle by her collar, but nothing else really says that about her. It’s sort of intriguing.”
“Yeah, about that.” Sax was glad the subject had been broached for him. “Who’s this Sir guy she’s got, anyway? I’m not saying this because I like her, but he seems like kind of a dick.”
Looking from side to side, Lytton took a step closer. “I tend to agree. June told me that one of the Flag sweetbutts told her that Beatrix was trying to cover up some arm and leg bruises one day. I mean, fine, if they’re into impact play and all. But this * had clearly caned places you don’t normally go, like her femurs, her radius, her humerus. June said it just looked like he’d brutalized her.”
Sax wasn’t very good at keeping emotions inside, especially anger. “I suspected that. I suspect Bee is a newbie to the lifestyle, and maybe doesn’t know the difference between someone dominating her, and someone abusing her.”
“You’re right there,” Lytton agreed heatedly. “Especially after living such a sheltered life in the convent.”
Sax’s blood ran cold. “What?”
All expression dropped from Lytton’s face. “The convent. You know, up in Boulder. Colorado,” he added, as though that was the only detail missing from the story.
“Convent,” Sax repeated stupidly. It was taking a hell of a long time to sink in, he knew. He really had no other choice, though, than to stand there like a moron with his brain running out his ears. He was truly blindsided by what was starting to sound like an utter lie. A f*cking convent? He’d concluded that Funkhauser had been blowing it out his ass when he’d told Sax she had been named “Sister Colette” in her life as a nun. Was Lytton just perpetuating the same strange lie?
“Yeah, you know. She was a novitiate, which I think is the step before taking her first vows to become a nun. You knew that,” Lytton stated.
Too prideful to risk appearing ignorant, Sax took the high ground. “Something about that, yeah. That’s the first side of her that strikes you. She’s got this very innocent schoolgirl aura about her.” He forced himself to grin casually, almost lasciviously, risking looking like a pervert just to take the focus off the fact that he hadn’t believed Funkhauser. “Her naivety was the first thing that struck me.”
Lytton grinned too. “She’s definitely got that innocence, especially compared to the sweetbutts who are her friends. You’re probably right. That’s probably why she lets that * literally walk all over her. She probably doesn’t know any better.”
“When did she leave the convent, do you know? Is this guy her first Master?”
“I think he is. She’s only been hanging around the Flag clubhouse for a year or so. That’s how long she’s owned the nursery. But no one knows why she decided to give up becoming a nun. Must’ve had some massive crisis of faith.”
Of course. It all made sense now. It brought out untold layers of dominance, craving, and machismo in Sax, knowing Beatrix actually had been a nun, or on her way to becoming one. It explained a lot of his attraction to her, unbeknownst even to himself. He probably should have been ashamed that the idea of f*cking a novitiate was causing his cock to lengthen and surge with blood. It was more than just a uniform fetish, which he’d been known to have on occasion. There was nothing more satisfying than turning a “meter maid” over one’s knee and dishing out her just punishment.
This was different—deeper, more personal, more profound. Knowing she’d been a novitiate shaded Beatrix with complexities and nuances. Sax had known she was a deeply layered woman, but this new knowledge sent a wave of gooseflesh down his arms, puckering his nipples, filling his balls with seed. Sax wanted a covenant with the sensual gardener, a covenant of dominance and submission. He needed to get to the bottom of this Roscoe Flantz’s hold over Beatrix. He was going to end that abusive assmuncher and take his f*cking rightful place as Master of the luminous sister. He looked forward to the training of Sister Colette…
Much like a horny guy attempting to think about baseball, Sax turned to discussing business with Lytton. “I just went down to a nail salon, a tip I had about Tormenta. Possibly smuggling women from Mexico to work in his god damned sweatshops.”
Lytton snorted. “Sounds like a Tormenta scheme. I remember him a few years back approaching Ford to use my connections over at the Fort Apache Rez to funnel his Sinaloa heroin. You know how the feds hate going onto Rez land. Of course Ford said no, at great risk to our club. No one says no to Tormenta.”